A Very Daring Christmas (The Tavonesi Series Book 8)

by Pamela Aares

  But wriggling under her anger was the fact that she had tried to get him to help the Dominia project. But she sure as hell hadn’t used her body to get him to do it.

  Betrayal.

  That was the problem. Her problem. Jake couldn’t know the raw nerve he’d exposed by accusing her of manipulating him.

  She’d been manipulated all her life by her mother. After her mother’s star status had waned and Cameron had become a child star on TV and in film, her mother had leveraged Cameron’s status to get parts for herself. At first Cameron hadn’t known. And then she hadn’t minded. But once Cameron hit the big time and got the first Oscar, her mother had campaigned so relentlessly that Cameron dove into a few weeks of therapy just to figure out how to handle her. The therapist had helped her glimpse the patterns her mother had laid the tracks for, the patterns that made her doubt herself and others. Patterns fueled by fear that made it hard to know what was real and what she could trust. Who she could trust.

  But back then she hadn’t been ready to touch the feelings she’d shoved deep. When a location shoot took her from LA, she’d stopped seeing the therapist, stopped the digging. At the time, she’d decided some bones should stay buried. But the experience with Jake told her that they’d rattle until she dealt with them.

  The woods grew dense, and the wagon slowed. Tyler and three boys she didn’t know roughhoused up near the front. The boisterous boys grabbed pine cones from a bucket and pitched them at every tree they passed. Tyler got Jake to throw a couple, and he hit his target every time. The boys shouted with glee and threw harder. Jake was their hero, no doubt about that.

  She looked into Jake’s eyes for the first time since they’d jumped up onto the wagon. He gave a half smile that shouldn’t have wriggled through her defenses. She snapped her gaze back to the road receding behind them.

  He was hero material. Gorgeous beyond what any man should be and with a body that made her ache. And he was funny. She loved that in a man—in anyone, really. Too bad he had a hard heart.

  For a moment she found herself wondering what had hardened that heart. Kids started out with open hearts. The world taught them to shut down—she’d seen that over and over. If she ever had kids, she’d never do anything to shut their hearts down.

  Never.

  “Okay, guys,” Alex said as the wagon stopped. “And gal,” he said to Sophie. “Stay within shouting distance. Each of you take one of these ribbons. When you find the tree you think is the one, tie your ribbon to a branch and come back here. Jake and Cameron will decide which tree will grace the Great Hall of Trovare this year.”

  “Not me. I’ve never even gone out to choose a tree from a lot,” Cameron protested.

  “Time to get those chops up, then,” Alex said as he handed Cameron a small saw. “Take this. You and Jake can cut some greenery for the garlands. The kids never want to help with that. Sabrina and I will head that way and go for the mistletoe.”

  “Mistletoe!” Sophie shouted. “I love mistletoe.”

  “Want to come with us, then?” Sabrina asked.

  Sophie looked at the boys grabbing their ribbons and then out to the forest. “Nope. I want to find the perfect tree. Alana said”—she looked at Jake—“Alana’s my mother. Well, she’s not really my mother, but I hope my mother doesn’t mind that I think of her that way. I think Mama can see me from heaven. Anyway, Alana says I have a very good eye.”

  Alex handed her a ribbon. “Best get on with it, young lady.”

  The kids dashed off. Alex and Sabrina took off in the opposite direction. Cameron clutched the saw to her chest.

  “I think we got the grunt work,” Jake said.

  Was there a twinkle in his eyes? She was not going to fall under the spell of his charm. Not again.

  She cradled the saw and headed down the path to the right of the wagon. Then stopped. “Don’t they have to tie the horses to something?”

  She wasn’t up for being stranded in the woods, even if they were beautiful woods.

  Jake laughed. “Those horses aren’t going to pull that wagon anywhere they don’t have to.”

  “Great. So... what sort of greenery are we looking for? The closest I’ve been to a holiday bough is in the Christmas department at Macy’s. Those are plastic. I don’t see any plastic out here.”

  He laughed again. She’d meant to make him laugh. But hearing his laughter melted another edge off her irritation.

  “Not much experience with things Christmas?”

  “Most Christmases we spent in Hawaii. My mother liked to rub shoulders with the Hollywood crowd that escaped Christmas to hide out in the islands. She thought it furthered her career.” A long exhale didn’t smooth the spiky feeling in her belly. “The only Christmas tree I remember was the one from the year I was five. My mother made a huge deal about decorating that year. I discovered it was only because Time magazine was coming to do a feature on her. I think her stylist decorated the tree. I wanted homemade ornaments and gingerbread people, and what we got was a silver metallic tree with green and silver balls and sterile blue lights.”

  “Metal trees never made sense to me. Loses the sense of the season. Yule log and all that.”

  “There was no life to that tree,” Cameron added as the memory came into sharper focus. “It was pure style and no life.”

  “Here’s a good branch.” Jake pointed to a tree twice her height with low-hanging branches. He held out his hand. She stared at it, remembering when he’d helped her up from the blanket on their date at the beach. He gestured, and she realized he was asking for the saw.

  “Maybe I could try,” she said, hoping that the blush she felt spreading on her face wasn’t noticeable under the thick layer of sunscreen she’d lathered on.

  “Sure.”

  She knelt and began to slide the saw over the branch about halfway along it.

  “Cut nearer the trunk. It’s better for the tree,” he said gently, as if he was accustomed to coaching, to instructing. It was the same gentle, almost coaxing tone he’d used in bed to get her to relax, to let go, to let him take her to a sensual height she would never forget and might never recover from. She gripped the saw and willed the memory away.

  The branch nearer the trunk was the diameter of her arm. The saw kept skidding and she couldn’t get the teeth to take hold.

  He was behind her before she realized it. He slid his arm around hers and took her hand in his. “Angle it, Cameron. Here, let my hand guide yours.”

  He spooned around her as she crouched, the pressure of his body heavy against hers, his hand firm as it guided her strokes. The rhythm he set and the angle had the saw gliding through the branch, the sound that it made punctuated by his breath near her ear. Her traitorous body forgot all her vows and all her lessons, and the wanting she’d tried to shove down rose in her, spreading, overtaking her.

  “Are you listening?”

  Jake’s voice snapped her back to the branch, the tree, the man.

  “I asked if you’d like to try the last few strokes on your own. I can hold the weight of the branch to make it easier and to keep it from snapping off.”

  “Yes, great. Thanks.”

  He levered away from her back, but even inches away she felt the energy of him, like a magnet drawing her life force toward his.

  The saw skidded out of the track of the cut they’d made.

  “You have to concentrate on these last strokes.”

  He clearly had no idea of the effect he had on her.

  Fine. Great.

  Better that way.

  She concentrated on drawing the saw blade through the cut in the branch. When the last stroke freed it, she lost her balance, and still gripping the branch, she tumbled back into Jake’s arms.

  Jake caught Cameron as they both rolled to the ground below the Douglas fir. He held the branch in one hand and had his other arm wrapped around her waist.

  She tried to stand, but the branch had her pinned in place. He dragged the branch to the ground b
eside them and with his hands firmly grasping just above her hips, he helped her to slither to the needle-strewn ground beside him.

  “You chose a good branch,” he said, unsuccessfully ignoring his desire to kiss her. But if he wasn’t going to act on it, he’d better move his hands off her and quick. She was trouble in its every form, and he was determined to remember that fact. He loosened his fingers from her waist and swore he heard a chorus of boos from the region of his groin as he put distance between their bodies.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

  “Other than the saw smacking me in the jaw? Nope.”

  He was a liar. By having sex with him and then leveraging the intimacy to get him to do her bidding, she’d hurt him in ways that counted, sliced far deeper than any tabloid article could cut. But no way would he let her know that.

  She twisted toward him and tapped his jaw. “You’ll have a bruise. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll ice it.” The scent of apples and some sort of flower wafted through the astringent scent of the fir. Cameron’s scent. If he sat there one more minute and if his body had its way, he’d have her clothes off and kiss every inch of her. He pressed up from the ground. “One down.”

  “Oh, no, I’m all right.”

  “I meant the branch.”

  She surveyed the branch beside her. “Right. How many do you think they’ll need?”

  “Knowing Sabrina and Alex’s mom? And estimating the size of Trovare? Several forests’ worth.”

  She laughed. He had to stop making her laugh. Like a laser beam, her laughter cut through his rational defenses and laid him bare.

  “No, really. How many?” She rose to her feet. “We have an assignment, after all.”

  The assignment had nothing to do with cutting branches to make garlands. Jake knew Alex well enough to know his teammate would in fact stoop so low to set him up. He needed to have a word with him. And soon.

  A whistle from the direction of the wagon had both of them turning toward it. The neighing of the horses punctuated the whoops of children’s laughter.

  Jake lifted the branch. “Better head back. I’ll come out with Alex and a truck and get more branches later. One job we do have to do right now is pick a tree. How good are your diplomacy skills?”

  Her eyes clouded, and the smile drifted out of her face. “Judging by my lack of success in Dominia, just about zero.”

  “Then we’ll have to wing it.” Jake was in no mood to revisit anything about his trip to Dominia. “When I was a kid, we’d go out into the snow every Christmas and find a tree,” he said, changing the subject. “We didn’t have the luxury of having a ready-made tree farm like the Tavonesis have here. It was often a slog through half a mile of wet snow. My mom, my sister, my brother and I made the ornaments.”

  He was blathering. It was a helluva lot smarter than kissing her.

  “Peter always made baseballs. It didn’t matter what the material of the year was—wood, papier-mâché, cookie dough or felt—he always made a slew of baseballs.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Had. He died in a boating accident. Four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jake shouldered the branch they’d cut. “Hey, you couldn’t have known.”

  He was aware of Cameron watching his face. The branch was heavy, but he shouldered it and started back down the path toward the wagon.

  “By the time I was seven,” he said, his tone falsely breezy, “we had half a tree of baseballs, most of them losing their stuffing. But Peter would howl if every single one didn’t make it onto the tree.”

  “Did Peter play baseball?”

  “Oh, yeah. He was drafted straight out of college by the Rangers. He would’ve been better than me in another year or two. He had the touch.”

  “Alex said you do too.”

  She’d been discussing him with Alex? The admission shouldn’t have made him smile. But his thoughts of Peter tugged the smile off his face fast.

  Part of him had died with Peter, the part of him that trusted the justice in the world. Peter never took risks. Except on the ball field. And those were calculated, brilliant moves, nothing rash about them. Jake was the one who’d jumped out of airplanes, raced dirt bikes in places no sane person would’ve attempted, drove fast cars and tempted fate in more ways than he should ever have gotten away with.

  “Peter was a natural,” Jake said into the uncomfortable silence. “He had a bigger heart than me—for the game, for life—bigger than anyone’s.” The scene on the dock that hot summer afternoon flashed in his mind. One impulsive decision followed by shuffled plans, and the next thing he knew, he no longer had a living brother. “It should’ve been me going down on that boat.”

  Cameron stopped walking, and he nearly smacked into her with the branch.

  She lifted a searing gaze to him. “How can you say that?”

  He’d never voiced the thought before. Aware that she expected an answer, he shrugged and picked up his pace. He’d never talked to anyone about what had happened the day Peter died.

  What the hell was it about Cameron that made him scale the walls that had served him for so long? Boundaries were important. Boundaries made sense. They let in what worked and kept out what didn’t. But around her those walls were neither thick nor high. Or maybe they simply weren’t strong enough to withstand her.

  He dropped the branch to the ground next to the wagon. He was spared from further questions by Sophie’s exuberant hug.

  “Tyler and I picked the same tree.”

  “I saw it first,” Tyler protested.

  “It’s cosmet,” Sophie said with a gloating smile.

  “Kismet,” Jake corrected, glad he didn’t believe in such forces. But when Cameron said that if two of them had chosen the same tree, it had to be the hands-down winner, he agreed.

  Until the kids led them to the tree.

  The Douglas fir was over twenty feet tall and nearly nine feet wide at the base.

  Alex whistled.

  “Kismet, huh? Looks like we’ll have to bring in the vineyard truck.” He looked at Cameron and then Jake and smiled. “Nice work, guys.”

  Jake had the sneaking feeling Alex wasn’t talking about the freaking Christmas tree. It dawned on him that Alex really had invited him up to Trovare to set him up.

  When they returned to Trovare, he and Cameron worked side by side at the table Sabrina had prepared in the castle’s inner courtyard. Jake sheared the smaller branches off the larger bough they’d collected and twisted them together into a line with wire. Cameron hummed a soft tune as she fashioned red bows out of a huge spool of velvet ribbon.

  She stopped humming. “If Peter made baseballs, what sort of ornaments did you make?”

  Her question surprised him. “Bears.” He couldn’t help but grin at the rising memory. “Very badly made bears. Most of them ended up looking like doughnuts with noses. My mom still has every one. She drags them out every Christmas. Except this year.”

  “Why not this year?”

  “I sent my parents to Rome for the holidays. Mom always wanted to spend a Christmas there. And since Peter’s death, holidays have been painful. This year I was able to make at least one of her dreams come true.”

  Cameron stopped tying the bow she held in her hand and lifted her gaze to his. “What other dreams does she have?”

  “The usual—grandkids and all that. I’m leaving that one to my sister. Not for me.”

  Cameron chewed at her bottom lip as the smile faded from her eyes. “My mother’s Christmas dreams have always been about fame. The rare times she was around, she used to spend the entire holiday on the phone trying to get film deals. Our phone had a very, very long cord—no cellphones then. There were days when I wanted to cut that cord.” She went back to tying on the last red bow. “I admire how you’re never on the phone.”

  “I left mine in the city.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t done it on purpose. “It’s been great to be out of touc
h.” That much was true.

  “I may try that. I get tired of being tethered to the busy, crazy world.”

  The quiet, almost imperceptible sigh she gave whooshed into him like a birdsong on a breeze. This was the woman the public didn’t see. If they did, they’d never leave her alone. There was a magic to her that he couldn’t put his finger on. She was a crazy combination of opposites, and the tension between them had the draw of the strongest magnet. And the tug of that force? It dragged him toward territory he wasn’t so sure he wanted to enter.

  “You must love what you do. I mean, to put up with all the downsides.”

  She pulled a length of the red velvet off the spool of ribbon. “I love the work. I love the stories. I love the family feeling and the teamwork of a film crew. When we wrap a film and everyone goes back to their lives, I miss the camaraderie most of all.” With a few deft twists, she formed a perfect bow. “What about you? What is it that drew you to baseball?”

  Getting out of a poor mountain town, he wanted to say, but didn’t. That was only one reason he’d chased his dream. “The first time I had a bat in my hand, it felt so right, so exciting—I didn’t even have words for the feelings that took over. Looking back, I’d say it felt like I’d come home—home to a place I hadn’t even known I’d wanted to go to.”

  “I know that feeling. I felt it the first time I stepped onto a film set.”

  The sun made her eyes sparkle as she lifted her gaze to his. The woman had the power to mesmerize him, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t even aware of it.

  “Besides, baseball’s the only game where if you fail less than two-thirds of the time, you’re still considered a star.”

  She laughed. He’d meant to amuse her, but all of a sudden, talking about life dreams felt too intimate. She stirred him in ways he hadn’t thought anyone could. More disturbing was the way she touched places deep in him where he hadn’t yet had a chance to set up boundaries. It was as if she touched his soul without even trying. Shaken by the realization—disturbed that a woman could move him so deeply and so easily—he lifted the garland from the table. “Let’s take this in.” Grasping one end, he began to roll the garland in a loop, focusing on his hands, the action, anything but his unsettling thoughts.